


Plum Pudding

by Biggersteinkins



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes's Plums, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Endgame Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Recovery, Stucky Fistposting (Defrost) 2019, Stucky Fistposting Fic Challenge, Whats up with the fucking plums?, plums
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 12:13:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19106878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Biggersteinkins/pseuds/Biggersteinkins
Summary: Bucky struggles to remember his past. After escaping from Hydra and dealing with PTSD, Bucky is on the run. Enter Steve Rogers, best friend and possibly more, coming to his aid.Its short, sweet, and involves all this psuedo-religious plum imagery. No idea how this happened but it did.Enjoy!Timeline: Civil War - EndGameA short 3k one hit wonder made for the FB fan page "Stucky Fistposting (Defrost)This weeks theme: Longing





	Plum Pudding

**long·ing**

_noun_

noun: **longing** ; plural noun: **longings**

1\. a yearning desire.

"Bucky felt a wistful **longing** for the old days"

 _synonyms:_ yearning, pining, craving, ache, burning, hunger, thirst, itch, urge, lust, hankering, need, eagerness, zeal, covetousness; etc.

The summer of 1942. A memory which ran frequently through his tangled mind. Even Hydra’s conditioning couldn’t erase the imagery surrounding it. How could he forget? Barefoot on the hardwood floor, sweat tickling the nape of his neck, the sound of an old fan whirring in the background, little Stevie’s outstretched hand – an offering full of yet unknown possibility.

Rolling his shoulders, Bucky strode with purpose through the busy swell of humanity. The crowd, as a whole, had a life of its own, moving like the schools of fish he and Steve once watched at the local aquarium. He could sink into the surrounding chatter, slip off into that part of himself he still didn’t fully understand, but auto-pilot was a dangerous mode and he made the conscious effort to ground himself in the present.

Here, in this place, he could be anyone, or perhaps no-one at all. Buildings towered on either side, enclosing him within the seething mass, wilted trees, their curled leaves provided little cover in the late July heat.

_The asset must remain alert…_

Bucky shook his head and pressed forward, walking the pace of the crowd. It was 1942 again, he could see the outstretched hand. As fragile as the man it was attached to.

_Captain Fucking America. Error. Incorrect figures received._

_Stevie._

Three feet apart, faces pressed to the glass. He wondered what it might be like to swim indefinitely, to breath water. Wide blue eyes reflected back at him, he wondered what it might be like to drown in them. That was a different memory. Sometimes they blend together.

_“C’mon, Buck! Stop dawdling, you actually want to see the shark today, don’t you?” Fuck him and that goddamn perfect smile. “Alright, alright, I was enjoying the view here just fine...” “What?” Unacceptable behavior. The asset will require reconditioning. Hands on the wall, soldier._

_Now breathe._

How long had he been standing there? Like a stationary rock in a quick moving stream, the herds readjusted their path to flow around him, content to simply ignore the strange man taking up space. From time to time he wondered if he would ever be himself again? But then again, he couldn’t be certain he really knew what that was anymore. The damage had been done, but still the memories gave him some comfort that a semblance of self could be pieced together.

You never forget your firsts; first busted nose, first kiss, first…

“Watch where you’re going!”

Sensors within the titanium arm sprung to life, bridging the gap between man and machine. This was but one of several iterations the device had gone through, and he’d lost count a long time ago. At least this version didn’t weigh so much it threatened to wrench itself free from his collarbone, or give him periodic shocks when sprayed with the hose. 

A man had crashed into him. Or maybe it was the other way around. Regardless, Bucky jolted away from the stranger before he did something that at least one of them would really regret.

As he pressed forward, the pathway opened up, parting before him like the sea. The sun beat down on a multitude of stalls, glistening on every passerby’s forehead. Rich and familiar smells mixed together with the acrid odor of idling cars, creating a scent so heavy he could taste it in his mouth. This wasn’t his first visit; he knew why he was here.

Even from this distance he could see the pale young man rising up to face him. He could see little Stevie’s outstretched hand, and the plum resting perfectly within it. Like a man possessed, Bucky continued forward, mouth-watering at the sight of the dark fruit, he could feel the weight of it on his tongue.

“Oh, hello again.”

The excited female voice broke him free of the trance.

_Malfunction._

Steve faded away, abruptly replaced by a young woman who smiled more with her eyes than her lips. Baskets of produce were packed on the long narrow table, heaped with a delectable assortment of local foodstuffs. There was everything from vine-ripened tomatoes to golden apples and anything in between.

Bucky allowed his eyes fall to the basket on his right.

“Told you, you’d be back,” she smiled again, he could hear it in her voice. “We have some of the best produce around, if I do say so.”

_Data appears sufficient._

Rotating the fruit, this way and that, he sorted out the few which caught his eye. She was correct in her assumption, which is why he was back, drawn to her particular stall and the plums.

“I believe it, you weren’t kidding.” Bucky said at last, handing them over with a polite smile and several wrinkled bills.

It was then that the cacophony of voices shifted, sounds of hushed whispering seemed to be erupting and spilling out of the throng surrounding them. Bucky slowly turned his head over his shoulder, scanning the vicinity with deadly precision. Two men leaned in to one another, making no effort to hide their stare.

“It’s a little hot for jacket weather, don’t you think?”

Bucky turned back to the owner of the stall and gingerly took the bag. “Cold natured,” he muttered, before walking away.

The whispering didn’t stop, it echoed in his skull, an electrical pulse which set him on edge and carried him faster back the way he had come, past the huddled groups, past the woman eyeing him over the screen of her phone.

He couldn’t pay for the newspaper fast enough, nearly wrenching it away from the clerk’s hands.

_Wake up._

_That’s not me._

_Don’t do anything stupid until I come back._

_Not me!_

_Mission compromised._

_But I’m me, not them!_

_Emergency procedures._

_I need to run._

_Ineedtorunneedtorunrunrunmustrun._

_Buck, run! Just go, get out of here!_

Plums spilled out of the discarded bag, conveniently framing the photo of a long-haired man on the cover of the newspaper.

~*~

“Please, have a seat.” T’Challa told them.

Told them, not said. He was a king, Bucky thought, after all.

Everything had happened so fast, one minute he was on the run from Hydra, Shield, some guy named Tony, and the next thing he knew he was in a country called Wakanda. Correction, _they_ were in a country called Wakanda. It had been approximately two years since Stevie had found him – he’s gotten bigger – and Bucky could now remember why that was. Steve hadn’t been little like that since before he fell from the train. He fell. Like Lucifer? No, but in the end, it might as well have been hell.

Now they were here. Steve told him they had left all the ugly behind.

_“What’re we supposed to do now, become a couple of farmers?” “I’d pay top dollar to see you in a pair of overalls, Buck.” There it is, that fucking smile. Not everything changed._

Time was taken. Time for rest and recovery, time to reassemble his thoughts. He met a scientist, Shuri, she had been good to him. A bit of a wise ass, but that suited him just fine. He considered them friends, he hoped that she would agree with that assessment. She made him a new arm, his best one yet. Strong but light; if he didn’t look directly at it, he’d swear it was the real deal.

_“Let’s see if we can help you with all those forgotten memories, eh?” “You’d do that, for me?”_

_Maybe some things should stay buried, soldier._

_How could it be worse?_

It took some coaxing, but over time, he was convinced. They had a machine. There’s always a machine. But he trusted Shuri, and allowed himself to be led into the device. It wasn’t until the strap slid tight around his forehead that he very nearly ripped the hydraulic bar off its hinges in his escape. They had the patience of saints.

The next time they tried, Steve held his hand.

_“It’s a little pathetic, don’t you think? Like I’m some kind ‘a frightened dame.” Large smile, all teeth. A reassuring squeeze. “No, I don’t think that at all – the pathetic part – from behind you do look a bit like a dame.” “You talking trash about my hair, punk?” “Your hair? Sure…”_

Success. Second times the charm. The hand, it was so warm and larger than he remembered. A plum would look relatively small in his palm.

_Three exits, blocked. Seven windows, glass, no screen, open – calculating…30 meters high. Chance of injury, substantial. Down on your knees. Two targets, unarmed – negative, armed. Hands on the back of your head._

_The asset must not cry._

That still happened, from time to time. Although far less frequently than before. Shuri’s machine had really done the trick. For days he did nothing but lay about his assigned quarters, reminiscing with Steve about all the things he saw. Confirming details of memories that now rose willingly to the surface, rising from the dead like a phoenix from the flames.

How do you lose a lifetime?

_Easy. Place your head here and bite down on this. Just a flip of a switch, shh now, stop screaming, promise you won’t feel a thing._

For the first time in years, he could recall the time before the damnation. Steve’s mother, a no-nonsense woman with a penchant for baked sweets. His sister, Becca, the letters she would write to him from her boarding school. Little Stevie, not so little anymore, Buck, coming to live with him after Mrs. Rogers passed. Bucky could see them, young and cocky, fighting bullies, telling jokes and laughing. They were best friends, had been since they could walk. Best friends. Maybe more than that – definitely more than that.

“And what are your thoughts of the current situation, Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky blinked.

T’Challa stared calmly across at him. They were seated around a table, discussing the worlds current threat; Thanos. A few weeks had gone by since word was brought to their little haven, now it was time to plan, to scramble in preparation for the upcoming war. Still, he sat in silence, characteristically unconcerned. There would always be a war to fight, someone who needed to be killed. If the serum Hydra put into him extended his life, then he imagined he would still be fighting and killing a hundred years from now.

_I am a weapon. Nice to meet you. Please, you can call me death._

“I think,” he began calmly. “That this will be something the likes of which we have never seen before.”

Without warning, a young man entered the room, carrying before him a platter loaded down with vibrant fruit. As if by higher design, a single plum adorned the top of the display, luscious and inviting. The courier paused beside T’Challa, allowing him to select from the dish. Bucky watched the young king’s fingers close around the plum, choosing it for himself.

When the platter was brought to Bucky, he took a small handful of grapes, consuming them with begrudging disinterest.

Curiously, the act of T’Challa with the plum failed to inspire the same almost spiritual emotions that his clouded memory of Steve did; hand outstretched, light shining from within. Regardless, Bucky’s hunger was ever present, gnawing at some buried part of himself. It was a desire to either consume or be consumed, of which option was more appealing he couldn’t be certain anymore.

Steve declined the food, locking eyes with Bucky for a moment when the young man walked away.

How glorious would it be to burn alive beneath his gaze.

~*~

With an audible groan, Bucky opened his eyes, momentarily disoriented. Everything was too soft and too quiet. He could hear birds and distant laughter. Maybe he had died, if so, this was a far better setup than the last time. He flexed his fingers, first one hand, then the other, then sat up. He was back in his bed, the overstuffed one with too much bedding. The one with over ten blankets and too many pillows to count. But Shuri had insisted on gifting them to him and who was he to say no?

It felt like only yesterday he had fallen asleep. Unquestionably against protocol. Just a quick nap mid fight. He had no choice in the matter, one minute he was firing a round the next he felt…funny. Steve later told him he had actually been asleep for over four years.

_My life is made up of lost time, sweetheart. How else could I maintain such a youthful appearance?_

The battle was over now, just one pull of the trigger and boom – not quite. Still, Thanos was gone. That was the important part. The universe was restored, like it never happened. Of course, nothing was ever that easy, even with so many people involved. Bucky was almost ninety percent certain he had been teleported through space and time onto the battlefield after waking up. Then, like something out of a fever dream, Steve had been there, fighting alongside him, commanding lightning from the sky. Radiance had no place in such a grim setting, so it was no wonder he could not help but pause in awe.

_Lust and atonement, forgiveness and destruction. The asset must preserve its functional integrity. Recalibration to be performed as necessary. Ambivalence._

So much happened while he had been asleep. Some people changed, others had died, but Steve was there – always a constant. Until yesterday.

Bucky shifted uneasily in bed, leaning back against the wall.

Steve came to him that morning, he needed to explain one last mission. Return the stolen jewelry or maybe he’d said stones. It would be a “walk-in-the-park” because there was a machine; there was _always_ a machine.

A time machine.

Bucky had laughed, perhaps harder than he had in a long time, loose hair falling wildly around his face. Through the unkept locks he could see no wide grin from Steve, no twinkle in those blue eyes.

Steve was serious and now Bucky was wary.

_“It’ll only take a few minutes.” Clocks ticking, I’ll be keeping count. “You will hardly notice I’m gone.” “Why do you even have to do it? Did you volunteer for this?” Look me in the eye and tell me your leaving. “I’m always looking for trouble.” She’s a lucky girl, sure wish I could meet Mrs. Rogers. “Oh yeah? I didn’t know my nickname was Trouble.”_

When Steve stepped onto that platform and vanished, Bucky had waited. Even after everyone else went away, he waited. The others they patted his shoulder, smiled softly in his direction, and whispered among themselves while they drifted slowly away. That was fine. He preferred to wait alone. Standing quietly was never a problem, he’d stand here all day long if he had to.

_Going to hardly notice your gone. Tick tock, tick tock._

It wasn’t until Shuri came for him many hours later that he allowed himself to be led away. Such a good friend. Even now, in the pitch dark he could see her expression. _I’m sorry,_ it said, _it’s time to rest now._

_How can I when you’re taking all the stupid with you?_

_Insufficient information. The asset does not perform tasks unless otherwise assigned. Stop groveling you pathetic worm, who the fuck is “Stevie”? Orders received. The asset always complies._

Maybe the voices were coming back. He blinked through the dampness gathering in his eyes. Shuri would suggest he repeat the treatment.

_Who will be there to hold your hand? Who indeed?_

“Hey, Buck.”

A beat passed. The lean figure entered the doorway. It was possible that the auditory hallucinations had escalated to visual ones. It wouldn’t be the craziest thing to happen to him. At this point, so long as Steve didn’t disappear, he didn’t much care.

Bucky swallowed. “Hey, Stevie.”

The tall blonde strode slowly towards him, an expression of bashful apology streaked across his stubbled face. He seemed unsure, cautious. In his right hand he nervously tossed a plum.

“Sorry I’m late,” the plum went up and then back down. “I had to tie up some loose ends…”

_It okay, darlin. Nobody said you couldn’t take your time. Dame’s gotta be let down easy. Let’s hear it for Captain America, kissing babies and breaking hearts._

“I guess I figured you’d stay”

Steve blushed, but didn’t look away. “Couldn’t leave my best guy, y’know?”

They stayed like that, both looking at the other, eyes locked in a sudden mutual understanding.

The plum went up. “So – ah, you still like these?” The plum came down.

It’s 1942. Little Stevie stood silhouetted in the morning sun, barefoot in their cramped dining room, his hand outstretched in offering, a plum perched daintily within his small palm. When had things changed between them? Maybe they never did, maybe things had always been this way – rather, that this of all things was the obvious conclusion to what had been set in motion so many years before. And because of that, for once in his life, Bucky felt shy. He had never done anything like this, tasted anything like this. But neither had Stevie. That’s what made it special. The petite man took a bite of fruit. Acknowledgement of the unspoken request bright in his eyes. Bucky stepped in closer. He pressed his thumb to Stevie’s jaw, catching the delicate trail of juice there. When lips replaced hands, the half-eaten plum was easily forgotten, left to roll messily across the floor boards.

“Buck?” Steve asked.

He blinked, coming back to the present, a familiar need burning in his chest.

“Stevie, do you think I can have a taste?”


End file.
